


You Know Better, Babe

by GenericUsername01



Series: Incubus! Crowley [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Because that’s what demons do and that’s what hell is, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Demonic Powers, Incubus Crowley, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, RATING HAS GONE DOWN and will not go back up, Shocking I know, The Arrangement Plus, The Arrangement With Benefits, Thirsty Aziraphale (Good Omens), a big part of being a succubus is punishing sexual abusers actually, absolutely no rape/dubcon, crowley is the demonic protector of lost and forgotten kids, demon lore, energy starvation, lust temptations just mean attempts to naturally incite horniness, so sometimes Crowley hurts bad people, this fic contains No Porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-01-24 21:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21344950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenericUsername01/pseuds/GenericUsername01
Summary: In Aziraphale's defense, it was extremely easy to rationalize that this sort of arrangement was efficient and necessary and even good. Plus, Crowley had a winning argument on why sex with demons was totally chill, Heaven was just full of prudes.Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, after all.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Humans
Series: Incubus! Crowley [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1538689
Comments: 30
Kudos: 139





	1. Close Call

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so, about the sex demon thing. Crowley will not, at any point, rape anyone or use his powers to induce arousal. I know I've said this in a few other GO fics (and the first one in this series) but it's literally not a sin unless you /chose/ to do it. Demonic temptations are literally just temptations, it's an attempt at persuasion at the most. For the most part, Crowley is going to inspire lust about the same way a human would, and also in his unique batshit manner of demon-ing (Crowley invented porn bots instead of taking down London's phone network, basically).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley basically goes into heat in this chapter?? I don't know how this happened. Again, to reiterate, nothing rape-y or "dubcon" happens here, at all, from either side. They literally don't even do anything. Also I swear it makes sense in context. This is plot, but like, plot I didn't realize I was going to write until it appeared on the page all on its own. I have like two or three solid ideas for this fic and the rest is a vague blur, but this is probably the only chapter this particular issue will come up

> Don't give it a hand, offer it a soul  
Honey, make this easy  
Leave it to the land, this is what it knows  
Honey, that's how it sleeps
> 
> Don't let it in with with no intention to keep it  
Jesus Christ, don't be kind to it  
Honey don't feed it, it will come back
> 
> You know better babe, you know better babe  
Than to smile at me, smile at me like that  
You know better babe, you know better babe  
Than to hold me just, hold me just like that
> 
> \--_It Will Come Back, _Hozier

He might have-- maybe-- done his first temptation wrong.

"The apple was _right there," _he said. "It was easy, alright? It's not like God was being subtle about it. The humans _needed_ to be tempted to eating it."

Asmodeus rubbed at his temples. "You signed up to be an incubus," he said. "All the paperwork went through. You were processed weeks ago. You've attended the training seminars. You _knew _what you were supposed to tempt Eve to. There was a reason I sent you to her specifically."

"Yeah well you never said!" he said. "You said, and I quote, 'Go up there and make some trouble.' Which I did."

Asmodeus stared at him for a long moment.

"I'll take him," Beelzebub piped up. "Excellent gluttony temptation. Great precedent for the first sin. Damning humans for all eternity with _food. _If he's useless as an incubus, I'd be willing to swap you one of mine."

"No, it's my demon, back off," Asmodeus said. He sighed. "Crowley. Go back topside. Inspire _lust. _Incite _sexy _trouble, alright? Can you do that for me?"

He nodded.

"Great." Asmodeus waved him off, already turning back to Beelzebub and mouthing something, as if Crowley couldn't see that.

* * *

Crowley hadn’t told Aziraphale at first.

It hadn’t really come up on the wall, or the handful of other times they had seen each other in passing in the past millennium. Aziraphale had had a passing thought or two about him, which Crowley heard, and was perfectly content to ignore for the sake of civil and un-awkward relations. And, well. Crowley had maybe had a few vague thoughts about decidedly _not _telling Aziraphale, ever. In theory, all demons were equally bad. In practice, ‘sex demon’ just sounded worse somehow. It was the most obvious temptation, the form that humans were most wary about.

Crowley had thought that it would probably send Aziraphale running. And so he had just… not mentioned it. Irrelevant, wasn’t it? Aziraphale didn’t know shit about Hell’s hierarchical structure. If Crowley had been assigned to literally any other sin, it never would have been an issue, likely, so why did it matter if he was a sex demon?

Crowley had almost been a Gluttony demon. Had been meant to be assigned to Pride. If he had specialized in either of those, it wouldn’t have mattered, so logically, the fact that Lust was his specialty didn’t matter either.

And so he kept silent.

But that plan was shot to pieces now.

See. Saving children from the Flood had sounded like a great idea. Part of Crowley's job was the protection of children, technically, and he was prepared to argue about that if anyone asked. And the easiest way to save the children had been to smuggle them onto that great big ready-made boat with so many compartments that were all so easily overlooked.

Crowley had shoved the zebras in with the one unicorn and repurposed an enclosure. It was for humans now. Little ones, who didn't deserve to drown.

None of them deserved to drown, actually. The Flood wasn't even about humans; it was about the sinful angels who had taken human spouses and had children with them.

The Flood was God's way of hitting the reset button on the human gene pool.

They didn't deserve any of this.

Crowley felt that with a sickness in his chest, and he stole twenty-three children away, miracling endless bread and fish and milk for them. The compartment had been too cramped, so he had expanded it. It had been too dark, so he summoned an orb of light to hover near the ceiling. Got rid of it at night, made it anew in the day. The Ark had been hard, and cold, and he miracled an insane amount of blankets.

And he had felt utterly exhausted, but whatever, who cares. He'll get his full energy back in about a week or so. Always does.

It's less if can find a solid source of sexual energy to feed on, but that definitely wouldn't be happening here.

He had been wary about becoming an incubus, at first, because of that. It had been written on the sign-up sheet, along with all the other terms and conditions. Sex demons can _die. _Die for real, permanently, more permanently than even humans can.

And the thing that can kill them so effectively is energy starvation.

Sex demons need to feed on sexual energy. Makes sense. Easy to come by, too. Crowley can literally gain it by sleeping in the room beside an amorous couple at an inn. Sitting in a bar while humans make out nearby and get far too into it-- though drunken lust often isn't as filling, or satisfying. The most direct, replenishing method is, of course, to simply have sex himself.

To be clear, a sex demon cannot feed on their own lust. Masturbation is pleasurable, in the same way it is for a human, but that's it. Essentially an exercise in futility, in Crowley's eyes. Why bother, when it's all too easy to find a willing human, _and _gain power from it, _and_ write it up as an incitation of lust in the masses.

Plus, sex is more fun.

Crowley quickly learned the value of young, married neighbors. Also the near constant lust generated by teenage boys who've recently discovered wanking. Like bloody steam engines. Very uncomfortable to think about, so Crowley pointedly doesn't, but he used to live next door to a young man who was like clockwork. Very reliable, and Crowley had never been more powerful in his life.

There's also the less impactful ways of gaining energy. Walking down the street, for one. Humans often have casual, passing lustful thoughts. Sometimes they're just feeling slightly aroused for no real reason. Crowley can wander through a crowd and hear all of these thoughts and gain just that little bit of refreshment from them. Even inspires a few, which is always an ego boost. Well. Not always. Some people's thoughts are better if you _can't _hear them, but unfortunately, that particular power doesn't come with an off switch.

And so anyways, the early days of the Flood completely wiped him out, but Crowley wasn't worried. It wasn't that bad. He had only extended himself a little bit farther than his previous limit. It was fine. With no active, concentrated force from a human doing _something, _it might take a while, but slow accumulation would work too.

Like he said, about a week.

He would get his energy back.

But then he didn't, and he didn't, and he kept using his powers to miracle up more food and water, and he got more and more tired and more and more scared to sleep, for fear that maybe he wouldn't wake up.

And it occurred to him that children didn't generate any lust, passively or no.

Twelve days in, he realized he fucked up real bad. But he could last the full forty. Just 28 more to go. He could do it, possibly, if he kept the miracles small. If he rested a lot and encouraged the children to make the food stretch. As long as he didn't close his eyes too long. He might be able to get out of this, with his soul still intact.

Fourteen days in, through a haze of hunger and sleep deprivation (the demonic equivalent, anyway. Energy starvation was some terrible mix of both that had nothing to do with physical needs and didn't directly translate into human terms), he blearily realized that it was only going to _rain _for forty days and forty nights. After that, the Earth would still be flooded. Everywhere.

For over a year.

He laughed, hysterically and weakly, and maybe the children were looking at him with concern again, but fuck if he could even focus enough to tell.

He was going to die.

* * *

Something.

Something with light. It was all blurry. Moving, too, very rude. As if Crowley could see.

He closed his eyes again.

A hand was tapping his cheek. A light slap landed, and he blinked his eyes open, frowning.

"Mmmm," he said, with the clear annoyance of someone who did not want to be disturbed.

There were sounds, muffled, like they were filtered through water.

He started--

The slap was harsher this time. Crowley's eyes bolted open, his muscles tensing. For a second.

God, he didn't have the energy for that.

He looked up at Aziraphale, too weak to even move. To brace himself. If the angel was here to smite him, there was nothing Crowley could do about it.

"Crowley," he said. "What's happening? What's wrong? The children came up to the top floor to get help-- I made Noah's family forget, but Crowley, they say you're dying. Did something happen? Are you injured?"

The angel looked him over worriedly, moving limbs gently to inspect them.

And like that, Crowley felt a tiny flicker somewhere in his spirit, and he was suddenly fully awake and aware, if not exactly energetic enough to do anything about it.

It wasn't lust, really. What Aziraphale had felt had been the faintest wisp of a feeling, half-formed and aggressively squashed. It was the energy equivalent of a single, shrunken, half-shriveled grape. No, what woke Crowley up was the _potential _for lust. The presence of an adult mind, a reassuring wisp letting him know that the angel felt things like that, that here, finally, was a source of life-giving nourishment.

Crowley had not received any real energy, but he had snapped to attention at the possibility for it, like a starving person at the smell of food.

And oh, the angel would be _delicious._

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked.

He shifted, in a way he desperately hoped was alluring. Some dire survival instinct had kicked in, and it was _imperative _that he have sex _right now, _he was burning up with need, like he would die without it, without Aziraphale, and he was too consumed with need and want to even worry about it.

"Angel," he said, half-breath and half-whine. "Angel, _please--"_

They were suddenly elsewhere.

Crowley fell back against open floor, no longer propped up against a wall. He writhed hopefully, staying prone, as his angel had placed him.

"Crowley, what's going on." Aziraphale's voice sounded harsh and clipped now, so different from before, but Crowley could work with that, Crowley could work with _anything_ right about then. Aziraphale had _joyously_ started generating real lust, and Crowley was going to gorge himself on it. He needed _more._

He was working entirely on instinct, no thoughts in his head at all, only thinking _want _and _need _and _angel._

The angel would save him. The angel would have sex with him. Didn't really matter what they did, he just needed to get him to come, and then everything would be fine, and better, and Crowley could breathe, and this sense of urgency and impending doom would go away, he just needed to-- he needed Aziraphale to-- he needed--

He had just enough coherence to be vaguely aware of saying things.

Aziraphale's face turned from stony anger to confusion.

That precious pulse of lust trickled off. Crowley yowled, almost sobbing, pitching forward and crawling to Aziraphale's feet. He knelt there, like a believer in supplication, pleading with every trick in the book.

"--anything, anything at all, I'll give it to you, I'll do it for you, whatever, I can-- Please, please, angel, Aziraphale, you have to, I'm, I'll owe, I-I, _angel, please--"_

"Crowley, stop," Aziraphale said, and he looked mad again. "I don't know what you think you're playing at, trying to tempt me like this, but I find it most distasteful. Using children like that, manipulating them? They were genuinely worried about you. I know you're a demon, but really, have you no decency?"

Crowley whimpered. "Didn't lie," he said, eyes fixated on Aziraphale with an unsettling sort of eagerness. "Didn't trick anyone, angel, swear it. Swear on my life. Need you so bad, angel. So bad. Anything. I'll- I'll die, please, please just--"

"You'll die?" he asked. He sounded more affronted than anything. "You can't possibly think this ploy will work. What are you _doing, _Crowley? What's this about? Behind on your quotas, are you?" His eyes suddenly lit with an idea, and his face became even more stormy. "Are you trying to-- to _distract_ me? From the children back there? What, just because they're not supposed to be here, you think I'm going to transport them out into the--"

Crowley slid a hand up his own leg on the floor, hiking up the skirt of his robes with it as he went. His robes became an overlapping pile at his waist, and Crowley's hand trailed still further, reaching into the apex of his legs. He let out an overly wanton moan.

The lust was back, in full force.

Aziraphale gaped. "Crowley what the fuck?!" he said.

The demon opened his eyes again and stared up at him, hand moving.

"Stop that!" Aziraphale swatted his hand away, with barely any contact, as if afraid to truly touch him.

Crowley did, kneeling obediently, eyes still looking up at him with devotion, as if that was in any way appropriate at all. A pang of lust drummed through him soundly, and he chastised himself.

And just like that, Crowley's eyes cleared.

At first he looked confused. Then horror dawned.

"Oh God," he said. "Oh shiiiit. Angel, I didn't mean for this to happen, you gotta believe me. I wasn't trying to tempt you, I swear. Well, I mean, I was, but not intentionally. God, I didn't know that could happen. I wouldn't have-- Not if I'd been in my right mind, you know?"

"No!" he said. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Crowley, what's going on?"

"I..." he sighed. "Shit. Okay, don't freak out, alright? I'm an incubus."

Aziraphale's eyebrows shot to the ceiling and he started unconsciously backing away.

"Don't freak out! This was all a misunderstanding. Kinda. Okay, so incubi can... die, like for real, permanently. Of energy starvation. _Sexual _energy starvation, I should say. We literally feed on lust. And, well... There hasn't been any. Here. Nothing to-- fill me back up, as it were. I've been using tons and tons of energy performing miracles for the kids, but I haven't been getting anything new in to replenish it. I've been--exhausting myself, essentially. But, but worse. THat was, the sex thing. With me-- where I tried to-- you know. I didn't realize what was happening. Some weird survival instinct kicked in, I think, trying to get lust through any means necessary. Which wasn't okay. I'm-- Yeah, I'm sorry you had to... see that."

"It's fine," Aziraphale said, face burning. "If it's as you say, then you had no control over your own actions. Can hardly be held at fault for them. But you seem fine now."

"Yeah." Crowley scratched at the back of his neck, looking away. "Got enough lust to no longer be on the brink of immediate death, at least. I should be good for... I should be good."

"For how long?" Aziraphale frowned. "When will you need to feed again? We're going to be on this ship for a year. Will you be okay until then?"

No. Absolutely not. And Crowley was still starving, actually, just barely clearheaded enough to be intelligible. He was weak and exhausted, and without the dying last ditch adrenaline rush, he felt it keenly. Every bone was heavy, every muscle ached. His eyelids were anvils to hold up.

He was still dying, but maybe, maybe he could come up with a plan? Did that make sense? With Noah's family?

This has bought him some time, is all. A few hours, days if he's lucky. Is that wishful thinking? He just needs long enough to have a brilliant idea. How long does it normally take him to have an idea anyhow? Not long, it can't be, they seem to just pop in at random. Just walking along, then bam! Idea. That's what Crowley needs to have happen now, to save his life. Should be easy enough, though, what with ideas being instant.

He should pray for one.

Aziraphale was looking at him and his face was doing something weird again. "Crowley, if you're trying to think up a good lie right now, please just stop and tell me the truth."

He waved a hand. "'ll be fine," he said. "I'm gonna think of something."

The angel pursed his lips. "You aren't even thinking of this conversation."

Crowley shot him a confused and hurt look, and Aziraphale sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What is your plan, then?"

"Dunno, it hasn't come to me yet."

"Try and think."

He did, frowning. Then he lit up. "I'll fuck Noah's wife!"

"Oh, you absolutely will not."

Crowley frowned, then shook his head. "Yeah. Yeah, I don't-- I don't wanna do that. Terrible idea, there. I just... Well. I-- I don't need... What if one of those couples up there had sex with each other? I don't-- need to be involved. I just gotta be close enough to get their lust."

"They're living in one communal room. The one with the skylight. The only time those humans aren't all together is when one of them goes off to feed the animals, or someone steps out briefly to use the chamber pot."

"I can work with that," he said. "Them leaving to feed the animals, I mean. Just send two out instead o' one, it'll be great."

Aziraphale thought about it. It didn't sound right, sending unsuspecting humans out to be tempted into lust by a demon. But, well, they were married couples. It wasn't like it was a sin. It would actually be a good thing to get the younger three couples-- Noah's sons and their wives-- started on procreating. In fact, Aziraphale was pretty sure he could spin that as angelic, if for whatever reason he was ever questioned about it.

And also, he was uncomfortably aware of how badly the younger couples wanted some private time. Fifteen days in what was essentially a large box with a handful of other people meant you all got to know each other in ways no one wanted to. Everyone was on edge and snappish and annoyed down to their core. Even if sex itself didn't take the edge off, everyone desperately wanted some time away from each other. After a certain point, constant contact with your relatives becomes unbearable, and this is why holiday gatherings generally don't drag on longer than a week.

And what alternative was there? Let Crowley die, needlessly, out of simple isolation? Angels were meant to value all life, and more than that, Aziraphale was a principality. His duty was to stay here on Earth and protect and guard people, whomever he chose to take under his wing. And enemy or no, that had included Crowley from the very first day.

One could say, technically, that he was meant to smite and kill demons. That reporting that he permanently extinguished one during the Flood would be a shining feather in his wing. Earn him a commendation, possibly even a promotion. A one-way ticket to a cushy desk job back up in Heaven, a glorious accomplishment, with acclaim and praise to go with it. It would certainly create a good reputation, one other angels would pray to have.

But it seemed wrong.

And that was not how Aziraphale interpreted God's love, or his duties down on Earth.

Besides, if he killed Crowley, then Hell would send up a replacement, and then Aziraphale would have to get used to a new adversary, and oh, Crowley was _fun_ as an enemy. Sure, he asked questions-- ones no respectable angel would even listen to-- but he was such delightful company, and his wiles were more along the lines of mischief than true evil, and Aziraphale didn't fear and hate him, which was nice. He didn't want to feel fear and hate. He suspected any other demon would go out of their way to instill it.

Really, having Crowley as an active agent up on Earth was a good thing, because the alternative was any other demon. And Aziraphale had heard horror stories, from other principalities, about _their _adversaries and what sort of horrible things they got up to, and the violence, and all sorts of nastiness. Aziraphale had truly been blessed with nicest demon available to thwart.

He supposed, morally, that letting Crowley tempt young humans was not something he should be allowing, much less encouraging and helping along. But he wasn't going to let the demon die, and the only alternative would be to have sex with him himself, which... Hm. It, ah--

Crowley was in no position to agree to such a thing, with his life hanging in the balance. Not while he was still dazed and weak and confused.

"Give me an hour or so," Aziraphale said. "Wait in the giraffe enclosure. Can you stand?"

Crowley nodded, climbing slowly to his feet, face contorting with pain and exertion. Aziraphale tsked disapprovingly at him, wrapping the demon's arm over his shoulders and sliding his own arm around his torso, supporting his weight.

He helped Crowley up two flights to the top level and led him to the giraffe enclosure.


	2. In the Name of Efficiency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got to the scene where they started kissing and immediately remembered how much I hate writing porn lol. I honestly think that's why I was dragging my feet about writing this chapter so much. So! I brought the rating for the fic down, which I think really gives me more creative freedom. This fic will now have only plot and romance and fade to black scenes :)

Crowley hid out in the giraffe enclosure and forty-five minutes later, Shem and Tirzah came by to 'check on the animals' and instead had some fun up against a wall twenty feet away.

He didn’t have to tempt them. At all. His plan had been to... simply draw their attention, as it were, to each other’s beauty, but even that was unnecessary.

They lingered, chatting idly as they righted themselves before moving on.

Crowley slipped out, refreshed and clearheaded, and headed back down to the bottom level with his children.

* * *

"Crowley!" Mishal yelled, running up and throwing her tiny arms around him. He grinned and ruffled her curls.

"Miss me?"

"Where were you?" Barak asked, folding his arms.

"Ah, just had to talk to the angel for a bit. All better now."

"You were dying!" Arad said. He was also now attached to Crowley's hip, along with Mishal, of course, and Keren, and Zilpah in his arms, because she always wanted held, and was very small.

"I thought you weren't going to come back!" Arad wailed, and fuck, he was crying. "You-- You kept falling asleep, and none of us could wake you up, and, and, you wouldn't--"

"Shhh, shhh, it's alright." Crowley handed Zilpah off to Mareshah (who was the whopping age of twelve), disentangling himself from his other hangers-on in order to hug Arad. "It's alright. I'm here now, okay? I won't be going to sleep like that ever again, I promise. The angel healed me. I'm fine now. I won't go dying on you now, I promise."

Arad looked at him dubiously, tears still dripping from his eyes.

And see. The Ark had taken multiple years to build. It had been a big scandal-- crazy old man Noah and his boat for the end of the world. Anyone invited to join.

No one did, of course, and every single one of these kids' parents promised them that the Flood wasn't real, wasn't coming, everything would be fine and they had nothing to worry about.

"It's okay if you don't believe me," Crowley said. "But I'll prove it. I'm going to sit right here and stay, and I won't fall asleep again, I swear it. And you can bet anything on that. A demon's swear is binding, you know."

With that, Crowley took up his spot against the wall, and a mass of the younger kids clustered around and on top of him, as usual. The older kids were spread out further in the room, but all watching vigilantly.

"Now," he said. "Who wants to hear a story?"

* * *

Aziraphale kept thinking about it.

Which wasn't shocking. There wasn't much else to do. He was on this ship to make sure no species went extinct, and, as the humans felt a sense of responsibility to care for the animals, that mostly meant ensuring that none of them killed each other while essentially locked in a big box with all their in-laws for a year.

Aziraphale spent as little time with them as he could. They were all insufferable at this point in the journey, and staying with them was a test of masochism and Aziraphale's patience. In fact, avoiding them was the holy thing to do, so that he might not lose his divine love for humanity for all of eternity.

And, frankly, it was one thousand years into this assignment and he already knew that immortal companionship was rare and to be treasured. No matter how fully he immersed himself in their society, he would never be able to fully relate or connect with a human. Crowley, though, he already had an understanding with. Even if they had nothing else in common, there was the basic relation of the only two immortals around in a place populated by mortals, the only two who knew the truth of the universe beyond mere faith, the only two in the same situation of great powers and hands bound by bureaucracy, as it were.

But they didn't. Have nothing else in common, that is. They had plenty in common, and Crowley was delightful company. Aziraphale had had to tamp down an overjoyed response to seeing him several times now, and he had caught himself smiling at an ordinary snake for no reason once.

If he were truly responsible-- a good angel-- he would avoid Crowley at all costs and purge thoughts of him from his mind rigorously.

But also if he were a good angel he would have killed him by now, so. Clearly that ship has sailed. Aziraphale is a bad angel towards demons, weak and sympathetic when he should be steadfast and vengeful. But, well. He used to be a cherub, and then he had been demoted. It was already well-established that he was a bad angel. Everyone knew. He was too empathetic, he got too invested with the humans, he behaved as one of them beyond what was necessary as a disguise. He owned real clothes, not manifested but handmade. He'd had a dwelling, before it got swept away. He ate food even when it was not given in offering from a human.

He had thought about more carnal pleasures of the flesh before. He really thought everyone was making too big a deal out of it. God made it appealing for a reason, yes? Procreation is just slightly necessary. Aziraphale is fairly certain that the Almighty instituted marriage to ensure no one human had to raise another all alone, but nowadays that was a business transaction, and he found it all rather distasteful.

Sex, he thought, should be had freely, for pleasure and love alone. He is fully convinced he is in the right on this one, and that God would agree wholeheartedly.

And, with that in mind, along with some vague thoughts of Crowley and a mild sense of heat, he heads down to the bottom deck and finds a crowd of children and one demon in an overlarge compartment.

Crowley lept to his feet immediately. "Angel," he said. "Uhhh... What brings you down here?"

"You said you were having some trouble performing all the necessary miracles," he said. "And you have... a lot of children down here. Can't be easy, caring for them all. I'd like to stay and help out. Heaven knows the adults up above don't need my babysitting."

"I-- Can we talk in private for a moment?"

Aziraphale nodded, and gestured to the doorway, allowing Crowley to go ahead of him.

"Aziraphale," he said lowly. "I don't know if it was clear earlier, but I kind of need you to stay upstairs, you know, send a couple humans out once a week or so. I'll, um, without that, I would, there would be a repeat--"

"I know about that," he said. "It was... perfectly clear, the way you explained it. I wanted to offer... Well. I was thinking about it, you see, and it occurred to me that it might be-- more efficient, per se, if I just had sex with you directly."

Crowley stared at him for an interminable moment. "What?"

Aziraphale's face was burning. "I am offering to have sex with you."

There was another horrible, humiliating pause.

"Why? You know you don't have to, right? Believe me, the adults on the top deck are perfectly capable of generating enough lust. I didn't even tempt Tirzah and Shem, they just started going at it, all on their own. I think everyone up there just wants half an excuse; believe me, them working off tensions is benefiting the both of us."

"I..." This was the worst. And why was he doing this, anyway? All his reasonings were paper-thin. He couldn't even say he didn't want Crowley tempting the humans, because apparently he wasn't. "Yes, you're quite right. Silly of me. I just... didn't want to be up there, and... thought you could use the help down here. But that's foolishness, I'm on assignment, and anyway, you have this handled. I'll just be going now."

He turned and started walking away, ashamed and--

"You _want _to have sex with me!" Crowley exclaimed. Aziraphale cringed. "That's what all this was, you were looking for an excuse!"

He did not turn around. "I'll be going. I'll be sure to send another couple out together within the week, don't worry."

"Wait!"

Crowley grabbed his arm, and Aziraphale-- horrifically-- turned around to face him.

"Aziraphale." Crowley smirked, sharp and glinting. His voice dropped down to a purr. "You could have just said."

His face was burning again, or possibly still burning from earlier, it was hard to tell. "Yes, that's quite enough of that."

"Is it?" Crowley stroked a hand up Aziraphale's arm, the motion soothing. "Isn't _'that' _what you came down here for?"

"Crowley..." he started, and then realized he had no clue how to end that sentence. It hung in the air, unfinished.

Crowley's eyes seemed almost hypnotic, though, of course, they weren't. Darkened yellow seemed to glow in the dimness of the Ark, the sounds of wood creaking and animals braying as the ship rocked all fading away. "Do you still want to?"

_"Yes,"_ he said.

Crowley slunk closer, into Aziraphale's space, his eyes a deadlock and his lips just inches away. He had both of Aziraphale's hands within his own, drawn together as if in prayer. He brought them to his lips and flashed the world's briefest kiss on them. "Are you sure?"

_"Crowley."_ He freed one of his hands to tangle in Crowley's hair and pull him, laughing, into a real kiss.

* * *

They righted their clothes-- which, in this era, were just large and loose dresses of the simplest cut possible, though Crowley did have a sheet tied around his waist as a belt.

"Well, angel," he said, smiling genially. "I have 23 children to be getting back to, and I'm sure you're anxious to get back to whatever it is you're all doing up there, so..."

Aziraphale frowned. "I thought I was going to be helping you down here."

"Hm? Oh, I thought you were just lying about that. As an excuse? You don't actually have to help me."

"No, I-- I want to."

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

"I do!" he said. "I..." He twisted his fingers together. "I don't like Noah's family," he whispered.

Crowley grinned. "Well now, I can't be leaving you miserable." He extended his arm, and Aziraphale linked his through obligingly. "Now, I can't promise that a demon and a bunch of screaming ragamuffins is necessarily _better _company, but we're certainly more interesting."

Aziraphale leaned into him as they walked. "I'm sure your 'ragamuffins' are perfectly lovely children, Crowley."

"Pffft. The other day I gave them all fruit, and they started throwing the pits. At first it was just fine, they were messing around, tossing them, but then it got violent and I had to take them all away. Elnaam pouted the whole afternoon, tried to get the others to rally against me. He started a bloody _chant, _Aziraphale."

Crowley sounded fond but Aziraphale frowned and wondered what he had just gotten himself into.

* * *

They settled into a routine. The remaining months on the Ark passed by with the speed of busyness and contented domesticity. To a degree. Aziraphale found out quickly that he did not actually like children. At all. They were okay for about ten minutes, when they were doing something cute, and it was a quiet and obedient child, but this is not the reality of actually taking care of kids. Kids are frequently loud and dramatic and disobedient and stupid in a way that hurts themselves and others. Aziraphale thought they were all awful to varying degrees, as well as dirty and gross. They were mean to each other all the time, and capable of weaponizing anything they were given.

Crowley, inexplicably, saw the best in them anyway and was unfailingly patient and kind, which made Aziraphale feel like he was kind of an asshole.

To be clear, Aziraphale definitely was not _cruel _to the children, and he did everything in his power not to let on how he felt about the whole thing. In truth, he did have a degree of affection for most of them, and did his best to provide good care regardless of how annoyed or pissed off he was at anything they did. It just didn't come to him naturally, the way he thought it would, as an angel.

He has also discovered that when he gets overwhelmed with the noise and the running and the children touching him and the _noise_\-- he can step out of the room. For some reason that didn't occur to him until Crowley suggested it, but he can walk away, remove himself from the situation, calm down. Crowley can handle things until he's ready to come back.

One thousand years on Earth, but Aziraphale doesn't think he's quite got the hang of human senses yet. Sometimes things are too _loud, _too bright, just plain unsettling as a texture. He delights in the pleasures of the Earth-- but only on his own terms. Those same sensations can easily become overwhelming or distressingly unpleasant, and Aziraphale doesn't think he's quite settled right in his corporation. For all his placidity, he sometimes has a bit too much energy, and it manifests in the form of tapping his feet or fingers, or humming, or pacing and fretting about, or just unnecessary movements. He often catches himself doing these things without noticing; sometimes even walking on his tiptoes rather than normally.

The kids had liked to point it out, as kids always do when they notice something about a person that they've never seen before, and he and Crowley had pieced together a nonsensical half-explanation that mostly had to do with divinity, because in truth, they had no clue, no frame of reference, and no one who knew any better. Sticking gigantic spirit creatures of unfathomable form into fragile human bodies was a bit of a new idea at this point, largely untested. And no one had even studied how _real _humans worked; God had just swirled some dust around, and bam! They were there.

Aziraphale had been there the first time a human had broken a limb. Little Seth had fallen out of a tree. He'd gone up to Heaven to ask if that was supposed to be possible, or if something had gone grossly wrong. No one had had any answers. God didn't exactly write blueprints and a manual down. All anybody knows about humans is what the humans have discovered themselves.

It's terrifying, watching them all forge headlong into the unknown. Absurd and horrible, often appalling.

It can also be breathtaking.

By now, humans have invented farming and surgery and clothes-making and construction. They've invented the wheel, and writing, and making up stories about the great unexplained things. They've found ways to make art, little representations of things they find important or beautiful.

Aziraphale has seen Crowley be awed by humanity since Abel first picked up a charred stick and drew a picture of his family on the cave wall.

He can recognize the love for what it is, now. As weeks blend to months, watching Crowley chase around children while yelling because he's 'it,' telling stories to them all in the evening, dealing with bloody noses and an absurd amount of friendship drama for children this young, Aziraphale decides that he absolutely did the right thing in not letting Crowley die, and that if the choice ever comes up again, he'd save him a thousand times, in a thousand ways. The world is better with Crowley in it. Humanity is better of having him among them.

He may be a demon and the original tempter to boot, but Aziraphale thinks more and more that all he really wants to do is help humanity get better-- he just unfortunately has to answer to Hell.

Morally speaking, if Aziraphale has found the one demon out there who is at least partially motivated by compassion, then isn't it his duty as angel to protect him, and to ensure that he stays on Earth? Hell gave the kindest demon they had a permanent field assignment. Aziraphale will do whatever he has to to ensure that doesn't get rectified.

He makes a silent promise to himself. As a principality, he can choose certain groups or individuals to watch over, functioning as a large-scale guardian angel, essentially. God created him as patron protector of all queer people, but he is allowed to take whoever he wants under his wing. That had included the humans in the Garden, for a time (though he elected to interpret his assignment to protect them as not having ended even after they were expelled), and then Noah's family, and recently all these children.

And now he decides that that includes Crowley. From now on, Aziraphale is also the angel of Crowley, his personal divine guardian.


	3. Deaths and Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so I put warnings in the tags of the fic itself but in the interest of thoroughness: this chapter contains mentions of csa, and later non-graphic violence to the offender. Be careful, be realistic about what you should read, please don't intentionally trigger yourself. The first section of this chapter is Crowley consoling the survivor (no flashbacks or description of assault), the second section after the line break is him dealing with the rapist, so is the third.
> 
> In the fourth section of this chapter, Aziraphale makes an assumption about Crowley, in regards to gender and lust temptations. It is one line and he's quickly corrected, but I thought I'd give a heads up
> 
> Also, unrelated-- Crowley does not answer to Hastur and Ligur in this fic because they're in a different department. Instead his duke is Lamia and his prince is Asmodeus

There was a girl. Not considered little by most, but not a teenager yet. She was set to marry her rapist. Money had been exchanged, plans had been made. It was as good as set in stone.

Crowley hadn't been assigned this case. He had heard about it on his own-- it was the talk of the town, the girl crying and raging constantly against the wedding, her parents ashamed and trying to cover it up.

He hadn't been assigned this case, but he had worked about eleven just like it in the past few centuries. This was well within his job description, simply the other half of what being a demon meant.

He made sure to approach the girl while she was in public-- talking to her alone would frighten her, he thought. He was a strange man to her, and most living beings on Earth could sense that he was a demon. But he had been in town for a while, living there, and so it wasn't unusual to bump into her at the marketplace.

They started talking. They went to the well-- still publicly visible, but less likely to be overheard. Laadah talked, vented. Cried. He held her loosely after a while, rubbed circles on her back. Hours passed.

"In an ideal situation," he said. "If anything at all was possible-- except turning back time-- what would you want to happen?"

Laadah turned her head to wipe her nose on his robes. "I want to leave," she said."I want to be somewhere else, where nobody's heard of me. I want to never speak to anyone here again."

"Anywhere specific in mind?"

She shook her head. "Just away from here."

"And what would you do there?"

"Why are you asking me all this? It's never going to happen. There's no point in pretending. I'm going to marry... I'm going to marry him, and then--"

"Hey, shhh. It's alright. That's not going to happen. I can--"

"Yes it is!" She jerked back to glare at him. "It is going to happen! Pretending like it isn't doesn't make it any better! What, you think you can go to my dad and demand to marry me yourself or something? It won't--"

"Laadah," he said sharply. He wracked his brain quickly. What was the least scary way to demonstrate magic? "I am not offering empty platitudes here."

He held out his hand, palm up, and allowed a plant to grow out of it. It stretched inches in height, turned towards the sun, grew a bud and bloomed. Laadah stared with wide, deadlocked eyes. She leaned closer, reaching out a hand tentatively to touch the flower. Crowley slowly raised his other hand and snapped it at the stem, giving it to her.

He shook leaves and stem parts off his palm. They fell loose now, and would grow where they landed.

"I am here to grant wishes and perform miracles," he said. "So tell me honestly: in this new life of yours, what would you like to do? What's the situation?"

Laadah stared at the flower in her hand. She tucked it behind her ear and thought.

"Can you tell me what my options are first?"

"Anything you want."

"No, like. What can a girl my age actually do in other places? What are all those places like? Can you make it so I speak a different language? Tell me everything."

And Crowley did.

* * *

Shaphan was a well-known man in town. Had a good amount of livestock. His wives and daughters were good weavers. He was not in charge of governance or anything, but he was fairly influential nonetheless.

But not anymore.

Crowley was lurking in an alleyway in the dark, waiting. He allowed his more demonic traits to manifest. His eyes blew fully yellow, the pupils widening from the dark and from the hunt, the surest sign of a snake about to strike. His teeth thinned and sharpened, his fangs grew longer, until he had a mouth full of needles. Scales broke out on his skin, over bones.

He flicked his tongue out, forked, to taste the air and scented a human coming. Tall, sturdy build, sweat cooling on him in the night air. Twelve feet away to the right, beyond the corner of the building.

He couldn't wait to get home to see one of his wives in particular.

Crowley's tongue flicked out again, and he scented the man three feet away.

One second.

He jumped out of the alley and yanked the man in with an arm around his throat. Shaphan gagged, but recovered quick, and shoved Crowley so he knocked into a wall.

Crowley struck, and this time he bit. Shaphan let out a strangled cry, trying to push Crowley away, but the venom pumping into him was already weakening him.

The human slowly sagged, getting heavier and weaker, until he collapsed completely. Crowley pulled his fangs out of the wound, tasted blood and his own venom.

If Crowley had been a human, he would have lost that fight. Shaphan was bigger than him, and a _lot _stronger, used to hard labor. Crowley's form was weak even by human standards. He would have been easily overpowered.

But he was not a human.

He saw Shaphan's soul begin to separate from his body, and grabbed hold of it. The man had just enough time to look terrified, and Crowley took a second to grin at him.

He _yanked_ and dragged them both down to Hell.

* * *

"Got a new soul for you," Crowley announced loudly, dragging the flimsy ethereal thing behind him. Hell was always busy and crowded. He had marched through a lot of hallways before finally reaching an open-ish area, but even that was full of demons and human souls and other evil little creatures.

A few demons glanced his way at the obvious bragging, but most kept working.

"Yeah?" Lamia asked, coming over and folding her arms. "You didn't have an assignment."

"Oh, I have zeal for the work," he said. "Knew he was bound here and killed him myself."

Lamia gave an approving smirk. "Excellent," she said. "I knew you would take to this, Crowley. Saw myself in you."

"Hilarious. Where do you want him?"

"What's his sin?"

"Pedophilia."

"Ah. Throw him to the Furies. They've been getting bored, could use fresh blood."

Crowley nodded and dragged the human's soul away. It still 'looked' like it had in life, but transparent and washed of all color. A dead soul could be touched by higher beings (demons, angels, God, should She choose to come down here) but could never touch anything of their own will. Most importantly, they could still feel everything they could in life. For example, a dead soul could touch the edge of a paper and get a papercut, but the paper itself would not be moved by the contact no matter what, and no blood would fall on it, even if it 'appeared' on the human.

This also applied to the aches and pains humans were prone to, and also hunger and thirst. Those didn't go away in death, at least not in Hell.

"Got a fresh one!" Crowley called out, and tossed the human bodily towards a gambling table full of Furies. They descended on him like a pack of wolves.

The difference between Furies and hellhounds is that Furies are _clever._ Well, for a given value. They mostly steal human techniques and ideas. Still, they perform the necessary role of being Hell's over-jacked, adrenaline junkie sadists.

Crowley turned around and started walking away. No point in watching, and the souls have no voice here, can't make a sound.

You can't die, after you already have. No matter what the Furies did, Shaphan would heal from it, in grueling slowness, and then likely the Furies would do it again, over and over for all of eternity.

He would never touch anyone again. Not a single word he said would ever be heard.

They don't call it the Devil's work for nothing, but Crowley assumes God made Hell for a reason.

* * *

The sun was blistering. The cloth headscarf Crowley was wearing kept the heat off to an extent, but she was still sweating in her robes.

The angel was here too, and that seemed perverse. Just watching. An angel.

"Come to smirk at the poor bugger, have you?" she asked.

"Smirk? Me?" Aziraphale asked, as if that was preposterous, as if he wasn't _literally complicit_ in this.

As if he wouldn't have to kill Crowley if she tried anything.

"Well, your lot put him on there," she said, which was the kindest, most neutral way to phrase it. As if Aziraphale wasn't overseeing that it all went smoothly, all went _according to Plan._

"I'm not consulted on policy decisions, Crowley."

There was a beat of silence.

Crowley considered that. Policy decisions. This was all part of the Plan, came down from on high. It had been written. It had been prophesied. It had been read by all the relevant parties. Aziraphale had to comply with this, to do his job, or he would Fall. It's not like there aren't unpleasant aspects of Crowley's job. But she complies with it all anyway. Authority and power have their means.

Falling is unpleasant. It's terrifying. It's every angel's greatest fear. Crowley Fell, and she chose that, sure, but it was the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life. And she had had a fairly unique opportunity to see the extent of Heaven's corruption. She can't expect every rank-and-file angel to weigh the choice of losing their whole life, everything they know and love, over following one simple order.

Even when they continue to make that decision year after year.

Still. _Still._ She was being unreasonable. Chances are, Aziraphale believes wholeheartedly in the righteousness of the Plan, and he would be able to justify any individual act as being for the greater good in the long run, no matter what it was. She can't judge him for believing in Heaven. For not Falling. She should be more compassionate.

"Did you, uh, ever meet him?" Aziraphale asked.

"Yes. Seemed a bright young man," she said. "I showed him all the kingdoms of the world."

The angel's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"He's a carpenter from Galilee. His travel opportunities are limited."

"Is..." Aziraphale trailed off. "Did you tempt him?"

Her heart iced over. "Of course. That was the whole point."

"Of the new form?"

Ice shattered like faith, in an enemy who had been kind so long ago. "No."

"Of what then?"

He sounded confused. Crowley didn't look at him.

"The roadtrip," she said, as sarcastically. "Ya know, where I took good old Yeshau hopping around through time and space. Looked at all the grandeur and horror of humanity throughout time, asked him what he thought they would be like under the guidance of one perfect immortal human ruler. Reminded him that he already has one nation clamoring for him to be king. Didn't take the bait, though." She paused. She didn't have to say this. She could stop talking. "You don't tempt the _Son of God_ with lust. You tempt him with his own empathy. I told him he could save lives and prevent suffering, engineer a world utopia. Thought he'd be self-righteous enough to develop a complex. But he doesn't take after his mum that much."

Aziraphale was quiet.

"And besides," Crowley said. "If I really wanted to tempt him to lust, I'd still be going around as a man."

Aziraphale nodded. "I sensed that about him. I thought... perhaps you didn't," he said. "Was... Forgive me if I'm overstepping, but if the change of form had nothing to do with tempting the Christ, then why did you do it? What does it accomplish?"

Crowley shifted her weight. "It's just for me. I like it better. I felt like it."

"...Like the humans do? When they change?"

"Yeah, like that."

"Oh!" he said. "Oh, do forgive me, I was terribly rude, wasn't I? I thought, because of your nature-- Well it was rude of me. I'm very sorry. Uhm, would you prefer I call you a different name?"

"No," she said, and dammit, she was already going soft on him again. "Crowley is fine."

The sharp clang of a hammer startled them back to the execution.

"That has got to hurt," she said. "What was it he said that got everyone so upset?"

"Be kind to each other."

"Oh, yeah. That'll do it."

* * *

Aziraphale insisted she come back to his place after, saying that she shouldn't be alone right then. He had fussed about making food, which she had ignored, and then eventually just got out a jug of wine and two ceramic cups.

"I'ss jusst," Crowley slurred. "I spend-- I sspend three monthsss on 'uh road with this kid. Right? Tryin' to convince him to live. Be immortal! Rule the world! And then he jussst... goes and diess. For no reason. At all."

"Dear, I'm fairly certain he had--" Aziraphale hiccuped. "--an exce-- _excellent_ reason."

"Yeah yeah, human souls, whatever," Crowley said. "If Gohh-- if _She _really wanted to ssave the humansss, She coulda just _done it. _No need to have a human son an' kill him off. She's the motherfucking Almighty. She can _literally_ do whatever She wants."

"She has Her reasons."

"Like what?"

"...God works in mysterious ways."

"Holy hell, you don't--"

"It is not for us to know every single--!"

"--followin' along with some big steaming pile of bullshit--"

"--simply have to trust that God is good and ff-- perfect, and has thought of... all of... everything."

"What a load of hooey," Crowley said. "God just doess shit. The dinosaurs are a joke. Sso much issss jusst-- jussst-- She felt like it! She'sss laughing! She'ss up on Her throne in Heaven, laughing!"

"Oh, do hush, dear," Aziraphale said, knocking back more wine. "I'll have to smite you for blasphemy."

Crowley mumbled something completely unintelligible. She slumped over onto Aziraphale's shoulder, snuggled in, and was snoring within minutes.

Aziraphale smiled fondly. He pressed a kiss to her hair (the headscarf had slipped down at some point), and moved her carefully so that she could sleep with her head in his lap, which he assumed would be much more comfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus was gay and you can't stop me
> 
> Let me know if you think the current tags/warnings for violence aren't good enough, it's currently labeled as non-graphic with no archive warnings on the fic but I can change that


	4. The Eternal Reward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took the Arrangement and fixed it with a hammer
> 
> WARNING for depiction of extended religious fasting and other self-punishments in the end after 'there was no aging in Heaven.' Be realistic about whether that will be an issue for you, please. The second half of this chapter depicts an authoritarian religious environment and talks about humans dying, and dying young

There was a banquet to celebrate the knighting of Sir Aziraphale and a few others. It was there that he was introduced to the royal court and noble courtesans, the chief of the guard and the other knights of the round table. He had already met the queen, obviously, and the king by extension through the knighthood ceremony.

Now, though, now he saw a figure in strange but fine black clothes, a shock of dark red hair (though that wasn't so unusual here), and what he suddenly realized was a familiar face.

He went through a cycle of delight, excitement, confusion, mild dread, and back to joyous relief within seconds.

He made his excuses from his conversation and wove through the crowd, zeroing in on his demon, who was currently speaking with Queen Guinevere.

"In five months time, a great explosion will rise up out of the Earth to the north. The sky will darken for an entire year, and the sun will give forth its light without any brightness. The whole world shall be cold, and the crops will fail. There will be famine across the Earth. Even the king's table shall have no bread. This badness will last three years, and when it finally ends, many will sicken, and the Earth will be reduced."

"Is there anything that can be done to prevent this?" Queen Guinevere asked, frowning.

"Nope," Crowley said.

"I see," she said. "Have you any _good_ prophecies, Merlin?"

"Only ominous ones today, Your Majesty. May I interest you in a parable about the wheat of the field? It's full of trite metaphor and it appeared to me in a dream."

"No thank you. Perhaps later," she said. "Oh! Have you met our new knight, Sir Aziraphale?"

She left without waiting for a response.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "Prophesying the future, are we?"

Crowley shrugged. "Barely even a miracle. Time is already kind of... twisty, as long as it's not about me specifically. Usually it's just little things, stuff you don't realize you know until you say it, you know? But a tiny smidge of magic in there can make it a lot more accurate, and generalized. Not just lead balloons and that one horrible piano war song anymore."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said. "I don't... see the future, at all."

"Ah," Crowley said. "Really? Not even accidentally, with little things?"

"No, not at all."

"Huh," he said. "'Cuz I spent ten years recently with a song stuck in my head from 1816. It's about some war that hasn't happened yet."

Aziraphale frowned. "Now, could that truly be called a power?" he asked. "Perhaps you are being punished by God."

Crowley nodded. "Perhaps, perhaps," he said. "Well! That aside, what brings you to town?"

"Oh! I'm on assignment to spread peace and goodwill about the land. There's not any threats, per se, but Arthur could use some influencing. He's poised to go down in history as a most noble and honorable Christian king, a wonderful example for all who follow."

Crowley hummed.

"And also I'd heard tales of a dark and powerful sorcerer in his court--"

Crowley grinned.

"--so I thought I ought to come and check it out."

"Ohh, feel free to check me out all you want, angel," he purred and leaned closer, his lips practically at Aziraphale's ear. "I'm yours for the taking."

Aziraphale swatted at him playfully, struggling to suppress a smile. After 3500 years, though, at least he could contain a blush. "Stop it, you menace. I'm here on business."

"Isn't fucking me 'business' too?"

"Crowley!"

"What? It's an honest question, angel."

"It most certainly is not. You're a scoundrel and a minx, and a horrible tempter to boot." He turned up his nose delicately, looking away from Crowley.

"A horrible tempter, am I?"

"Mhmm."

"Horrible as in bad for doing it or bad at it?"

"Well." He certainly wasn't going to stand there and praise him, his enemy. Not in public, at the very least.

"I could have anyone here in bed by the end of the night."

"Not an angel, however. We are impervious to such temptations." He stalwartly did not look at him.

"Is that a challenge?"

"Of course not. I'm simply saying you could never do it."

* * *

Crowley settled in against Aziraphale's side, halfway on top of him, and the angel pulled the blankets up over them both. With some more minor adjusting, they got into a position where they could kiss more easily, and-- even more importantly-- Crowley could twine every single one of his limbs around Aziraphale.

They spent what was quite nearly a sinfully indulgent amount of time kissing.

That was Crowley's favorite. When they were kissing, Aziraphale couldn't leave or talk about Heaven. Kissing wasn't about lust or gaining power. It was affectionate, it held the attention, he could pretend it was done out of love rather than simply the nature of an angel.

Don't him wrong, Crowley loved the sex. Enjoyed it, looked forward to it, relished every second of it. But he loved Aziraphale more, and if his one most secret fantasy was that of being loved in return, well. He was a demon. He was allowed a little indulgence.

"Is there anything I need to know?" Aziraphale asked. "About the court?"

"I'm going by the name Merlin here."

"Subtle."

"I'm not making any effort whatsoever to hide my nature. They _do_ think I'm half-human, though. Also I have an identical twin sister who has my exact same powers and status, but we make a point to never be in the same court at the same time."

"People bought that?"

"It's an intense rivalry."

Aziraphale hummed. He tilted Crowley's head to his will (he missed the long hair keenly in moments like this, though he was careful not to pressure Crowley about it-- the demon was beautiful always, anyway) and started kissing at the nape of his neck.

"Unghhh," Crowley groaned. Aziraphale sucked at his skin, making sure to leave a highly visible bruise, Crowley always let him. "I, uh. Also."

Aziraphale nipped harder, and trailed kisses down his throat. He slipped his arm up his back, wrapping around him.

"Um," Crowley said. "So with the court, um. It's a tricky situation."

"How so?"

"Got a bunch of affairs."

"Please tell me you aren't sleeping with the queen."

"No, the king," he said. "The queen's having a different affair with somebody else."

"What?" Aziraphale pulled back slightly, just enough to speak comfortably.

"I am having a secret affair with King Arthur, who is married to Queen Guinevere, who is having a secret affair with Sir Lancelot, who is basically the best knight Arthur has and his most trusted right hand. It's a goddamn political powder keg right now."

"What information does Arthur have?"

"He either strongly suspects or knows about the affair, but he hasn't taken any action. As long as Lancelot's discreet, it's not really a problem. And he has no illusions about my own feelings, so don't worry on that count."

"Did the king and queen ever love each other?"

"I don't think so? It's possible Arthur might have been a bit infatuated before the wedding, but that ship has definitely sailed by now. He's a respectable king. He's entirely focused on his kingdom rather than love and petty courtly squabbles. And as I said, Lancelot's his best knight. As long as he continues to tow the line, it'd be foolish to get rid of him."

Aziraphale nodded slowly. "Alright. That should be manageable. Thank you for informing me."

"No problem. Consider it a professional courtesy." Crowley gave him a frankly indecent look. "Always happy to _lend a hand_when needed, angel."

"Oh! You fiend," he huffed, and smothered any further words with a kiss. It was for the best, really.

* * *

"Well, how's it any different from what we're already doing?" Crowley demanded.

"It is _infinitely different, _Crowley." Aziraphale cast a nervous glance around, as if the two of them weren't alone in the middle of the woods. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "You are talking about treason."

"Auwgh, it's fraud at best," Crowley said. "It's mostly-- It's mostly communication, innit? Just so there's no mix-ups. You know what I'm talking about. Rome, Ur. Sumer. A lotta nonsense could have been prevented if we'd just... compared notes."

"We are on _opposite sides,"_ he said. "And what about the humans? Their souls? I won't be complicit in sending people to _Hell, _Crowley."

"Aren't you already?" he asked. "Nevermind. Hell isn't... Look, okay. Hell is a prison run by a gang. There's a lot of senseless violence all around, but what you got sent there for matters. If you keep your head down and stay away from the wrong people, you're mostly okay. So many teenagers get sent to Hell for premarital sex, and what they get is laughed at by demons. Half the dead souls down there are just babies who were never baptized, and the humans have come up with a system for them, I think."

"You mean to convince me there is no torture in Hell."

"No, there is, I won't lie to you. But there are more dead humans than demons, and there is much more work to be done than torturing. Management has clear priorities, ya know. Getting the upper hand on Heaven is what's important and nobody cares about the humans, especially once they're already sorted into above or below. Torturing is something that happens when the Furies are bored and don't have any better assignments, though really demons prefer to fight each other. Status, ya know? Clout."

"I don't care how infrequently it happens," Aziraphale said tightly. "The idea that I might send even one human to that fate is unacceptable."

"Even if it was a human who tortured other humans?" Crowley asked. "While they were alive?"

Aziraphale drew a shaky breath. He felt icy cold under his armor and maille, and the damp fog wasn't helping. "Yes."

"I've sent humans to Hell before. Personally, I mean. Horrible ones, who hurt children and enslaved people and led slaughters. Was that unacceptable?"

He closed his eyes.

"Hell has a priority checkmark system. There's actually a waitlist, of which human is due to get tortured next. There's always someone worse, ya know, and never enough time. Why bother with a drunkard when there's a warmonger right next to him? And when you've got your liege lord breathing down your neck about real assignments? Hell is run by a bunch of reprobate sinners who have trouble following rules; they aren't roughing up people for doing the same thing, not when you can check the paperwork and see, oh, hey, no one's laid a finger on Attila the Hun yet."

"I don't want to hear about this."

"C'mooon, angel, I have a point. Is Heaven really that much better?"

_"Than Hell?!"_

His frozen horror shattered in an instant, and he felt righteous anger burn through him.

"Yeah," Crowley said, unaffected as anything. "Is it actually better?"

"Of course it is!" he shouted. "How dare you! I-I am not listening to this! Do not bring this up again, Crowley!"

He used a miracle to vanish himself out of the woods. Just out of the woods, though. He was still incredibly worked up, and would like a long walk.

* * *

He went to Heaven, of course.

"Excuse me," he said. Puriel looked up from the front desk. Ne was the 'face of Heaven,' in a way, the first to greet those coming in the door. "I was wondering if you might direct me to where the deceased human souls are located?"

"Of course," Puriel said. Ne pulled out a white leather book and flipped through fine pages of vellum. "Humans can be found on floors 2 and 4 through 11. Floor 2 is new soul processing, floors 4-8 are infants and children, floors 9 and 10 are regular adult humans, and floor 11 is saints. Is there anything in particular you were looking for?"

"Uhm, no, no, I'm just assigned to Earth, see, and I'd like to see... where they end up, I suppose. See what good I'm doing." He laughed nervously.

Puriel said nothing.

Aziraphale's face burned. "Right! I'll be going then. Thanks ever so much for your help."

He turned and walked away. Heaven's lobby was large and spacious, always perfectly clean. The whole institution was constantly on the cutting edge of technology and architecture. Currently, that meant domed ceilings and arches, polished white marble everything (with veins of gold, of course) and lots of pillars. So Aziraphale hoofed it up eleven flights of stairs.

(He does not understand why Heaven has to have staircases at all when they all have bloody wings and physics aren't even real here. There's definitely no reason they should have _so many_.)

The floor for saints was beautiful. Of course. It was mostly a large, open area, bigger even than Heaven's lobby. Every wall had tall, thin windows spaced evenly throughout it, showing a view of mountains far beneath, and an ocean on the horizon. Even the wall that connected to the stairwell showed the view.

There was very little furniture here, and what was was simple.

It was silent. The humans were reading, doing needlework, cleaning what must surely already be clean and mending clothes crafted from light and power. They looked up when they saw him, some seeming startled or curious or unnerved, but no one said a word, even as their eyes stayed fixed on him.

Aziraphale had visited enough monasteries and convents to recognize a vow of silence when he saw one. He left and went to the next floor down.

The next floor was also quiet, but not silent. Humans spoke to each other in soft tones. They also seemed surprised to see an angel drop by, and conversation quickly hushed.

"Ahm, hello," Aziraphale said, too quietly for the size of the room, for the number of eyes on him. "I am a principality, one of the angels charged with watching over humans on Earth. I just thought I would stop by and see where you all end up. Don't give me any mind."

The humans cautiously went back to what they had been doing before. Aziraphale had spent many centuries cultivating a harmless and friendly appearance, and was also well used to using a mild glamor to go unnoticed by humans. As such, he was able to explore the common room more thoroughly without making any humans uneasy.

The floor was spacious, larger than the one above, and containing many doors spaced evenly throughout the walls, with a list of six names on a plaque on each. Some were open, and showed dormitory-style rooms, all very clean and modern, with humans in them and sometimes what seemed to be personal effects. Between each set of doors was a thin, tall window of the same style as the floor above, and just as immune to physics and determined to provide a beautiful view of nature.

Humans in the main area sat at finely cut marble tables, with chairs of ornate gold that would not be out of place at a king's table. Some played board games, some chatted. There was a door that magically opened to the ground outside, and two humans came in, holding bowls of fresh manna and a jug of what must be water. One young man was reading, the book bound with fine white leather and gilded pages, frowning and slowly mouthing the words as he went. Aziraphale went over to him immediately, pulling out the adjacent chair.

"Hello, old chap," he said. "Terribly sorry to interrupt you while you're reading, but, well, as I'm sure you heard me earlier"-- here he laughed nervously-- "I'm a visiting angel and I'd just like to learn more about this place, if that's alright?"

The human blinked owlishly. "From me?"

"Err, yes."

"Oh." He set his book down. "I'm pretty new here."

"That's alright," Aziraphale said. "Where were you from?"

"I am a Visigoth," he said proudly, sitting up a bit straighter.

"Ah. And you died in battle, then?"

"No, of a toothache."

"An abscess?"

The boy shrugged. "My tooth hurt worse and worse and then I was dead."

Aziraphale nodded. That was a common way to go. Many who survived into adulthood died from childbirth, plague, dental problems, or being stabbed.

"I'm just glad I was baptized before. My parents had both been pagans, God rest their souls, but I became an Arian a few years back. Just in time, too."

"...Yes, rather," he said. "Do you know if everyone in here was baptized?"

He nodded. "Oh, yes. It's required. We all must continue on the path of righteousness to earn our keep in Heaven."

"And if you don't?"

He shrugged. "Then you leave," he said. "It happened to Caesennia a few months back. She was just talking and then bam! Disappeared. Gone right before our eyes. Shahaf thinks... Well. I don't wanna gossip. It's a sin."

Aziraphale nodded. "Why are the rooms communal, if I might ask? Aren't there any residents who desire their privacy?"

"Oh, it's for our benefit, you see. 'We must not forsake the gathering of ourselves together,' and all that. Also it keeps us honest. Obviously there is no sin in Heaven, but always being constantly together like this, it means there's no real temptation either. We are always uplifting each other. It's great, really close knit. My room prays together every night. We might start doing a weekly worship thing together, too. Uhm, uh, the whole floor already does that, of course! This would just be-- you know, extra. Not that Heaven is in any way lacking. It's perfect. We're just... on fire for the Lord!" He laughed.

"I see," Aziraphale said. "I never doubted. Thank you for this conversation..."

"Alhvaharyis."

"Alhvaharyis, it has been most illuminating. I'll let you get back to your book now."

The young man nodded, and Aziraphale stood from the table.

One more stop. Just one more stop.

He walked down the spiraling marble stairway all the way from Floor 10 to Floor 4. Baptized infants.

This wing had angels in it, many angels. All of the lowest choir, the one that had no secondary title beyond 'angel.' They flew around in zips of air and light, constantly moving from one baby to the next, miracling up bottles and soft food and warm blankets, rocking and singing softly and having terse whisper conversations with other caretakers.

The room was packed. It stretched on near endlessly, with hardly any space to move between the silk-draped cribs arranged in precise rows.

An angel finally spotted Aziraphale gawking in the doorway. "Why aren't you working?" she snapped.

"Oh, I-I don't work here, I'm a principality, I just--"

She had already left.

A different angel put a stack of warm blankets into his arms while passing by. "Get those to Masgabriel ASAP."

* * *

It was two weeks before Aziraphale was able to sneak out of the nursery. During that time, however, he did learn a lot about the fate of the humans who made it into Heaven.

They were all treated with a miracle at processing that solidified them into a corporation-- a facsimile of their own past body-- which allowed them to interact with their environment of their own accord, unlike their fellows in Hell. Human souls in Heaven could touch things, eat, move objects, even feel and get hurt, though that never happened. To maintain the purity of the Host, any soul who began to sin was removed immediately and sent straight to Hell.

One bad apple could rot the barrel, you know.

The humans appeared as they had at the moment of their death, minus any pains or whatever had caused their death. They were given clean linen robes. They had outdoor access. Those who wished to eat could harvest manna from the hilltops or water from the springs. There were holy books and theological writings available, as well as stories that taught moral lessons and sheet music for hymns.

The saints all took their vows of silence within the first few months, if not immediately. They were supplied with work to do because they had expressed guilt at not doing any, and of course Heaven would not want to make humans feel bad. Some of them even volunteered at the nurseries sometimes.

The humans were able to partake in all the regular worship activities the Host engaged in, and were glad to do so. Some were moved to divine rapture fairly regularly at these meetings. Most of them only spoke of their faith, since arriving.

The curse from the Tower of Babel was lifted, and they were able to converse with faithful ones from all over the world, should they wish.

There was four whole floors of just children, mostly babies. Most humans do not survive into adulthood, of course. A quarter of them died as infants, and another quarter before puberty. Heaven considers the Age of Accountability to be fourteen years, at which point a human is old enough and wise enough to be in charge of their own spirituality and moral standing, and no longer guaranteed safe by simply the virtue of their baptism.

There was no aging in Heaven. Those children would be children for all of eternity.

As soon as Aziraphale left, he traveled by foot to the Red Desert in Egypt and went to spend a few lifetimes as an ascetic monk living in a cave with the Desert Fathers. He disavowed himself of all material possessions and earthly pleasures. He sold his fine clothing for simple rags, one set. He abstained from food, drink, sleep, sex. He had his fellow monks chain him to some rocks outside of the caves, exposed to the elements by day and by night, and he ceased to speak thereafter. All he ever did was pray silently and meditate.

His corporation had grown used to food and comfort over the millennia, and he was able to feel the loss keenly.

He stayed chained to the rocks for years. For decades. For over a century.

He felt what it was like to truly be a devout Christian human. He felt what it was like to receive their eternal reward in Heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Limbo is a HERESY. I know more than every pope who endorsed it. Also Heaven operates with orthoprax determining who gets in, orthodoxy couldn't matter less
> 
> All of Aziraphale's ascetic self-punishments were actually practiced by cave-dwelling Christian hermits of the time. Here's a quote:
> 
> "The natural ascetic practices have included simple living, begging, fasting and ethical practices such as humility, compassion, meditation, patience and prayer. Evidence of extreme unnatural asceticism in Christianity appear in 2nd-century texts and thereafter, in both Eastern Orthodox Christian and Western Christian traditions, such as the practice of chaining the body to rocks, eating only grass, praying seated on a pillar in the elements for decades such as by the monk Simeon Stylites, solitary confinement inside a cell, abandoning personal hygiene and adopting lifestyle of a beast, self-inflicted pain and voluntary suffering. Such ascetic practices were linked to the Christian concepts of sin and redemption."


End file.
